T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

“Hanging in there.”

“I talked to a priest this morning. Father Libretto worked with my sister.”

“He was the guy you tried to connect with at Sant’Egidio.”

“That’s right. This afternoon I called and asked him to have one of his people check on you. Just give you a friend there in the vicinity. I hope that’s okay.” When he received only silence in return, Wynn asked, “When are you coming up?”

“Soon as I corner this lead I’m chasing.”

The words had to be said, regardless of how close Esther was standing. “I miss you, Jackie. And I think about you a lot.”

A different woman emerged from the other end of the line. “I wish I could be sure you’re more than just another sad ballad in the making.”

“That’s not why I’m here, Jackie.”

In reply, Jackie hung up the phone so quietly he heard nothing until the line clicked dead.

Esther was there waiting for him. “I owe you an apology.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” He rubbed at his face, seeking to erase the fatigue and the rush of memories. Succeeding at neither. “Every word you spoke in Dianne’s final days was the unvarnished truth.”

Esther moved a step closer, wanting to be sure who it was she inspected. “Do you think people ever really change?”

“Probably not alone, and maybe not of my own will. But yes. I do think change can happen.”

Esther closed the space between them. Slipped her arm through his own. And as together they walked back into the other room, she said softly, “Friend.”

As soon as she hung up the phone, Jackie fired up her computer, as much to escape from what she had just said to Wynn as to make the daily check. The day had scalded her so badly, she now feared another burn from anything and everything, including the evening breeze. She was almost disappointed to arrive at the Trastevere site and find another request for a direct link. And angered by the cryptic message: Anything?

Jackie typed back, If there was, why should I tell you? Seeing as how you haven’t given me a thing but bad dreams.

The screen showed nothing for a long time, and then the empty message frame reappeared. Jackie was tempted to log off, give him a little of his own medicine. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. I might be able to obtain an access code to one of the Tsunami Group computers .

This time the reply was instantaneous. If you do, don’t use it. They catch you and your life won’t be worth last year’s computer virus .

Great news. What are you saying?

It will be time for us to meet. Again. Any idea when you might take delivery?

None . Eric had been mired in anguish when she appeared with Shane’s letter. Too worried about what was coming now to find any comfort in his possible deliverance.

Same time tomorrow, then.

Wait . Determined to get something more from this guy than cryptic threats. Ready to demand and threaten if necessary. You’re bound to know something. Tell me about Tsunami .

He seemed to have already resigned himself to the necessity, for the response came without delay. Signs point toward a carefully orchestrated attack on American currency and financial system .

“Wow.” By Hayek?

But the guy was already gone.

The omen, though vague, was too important to sit on. Jackie called Esther, repeated the information, then endured further warnings and worries. But as she was hanging up, a thought touched the recesses of her weary mind. Not a concept so much as a recollection. Jackie remembered an elderly professor she had admired at Gainesville telling tales to heighten the power of his lessons. Speaking as one who had lived through similar events, making dry theories come vividly to life. But she could not remember more than the image of the professor standing before the class, speaking in calm tones that resounded through her brain again now.

She left her apartment, went downstairs, turned on the garage lights, and began rummaging through the boxes stacked against the back wall. Her textbooks from Gainesville were naturally on the bottom. By the time she had found the box and peeled off the tape, she was sneezing from the dust. Memories and familiar aches assaulted her as she searched.

Then she heard the footsteps.

She rose to her feet and held her breath. The gravel drive scrunched beneath a light, swift tread. Her heartbeat rammed into overdrive as she dropped the book in her hands and stumbled over the open boxes. She fumbled along the side wall, clanking through rusty gardener’s tools and coming up with a hoe. Jackie took a two-handed clench and fought down terror.

A voice called through the open door, “Ms. Havilland?”

“Who wants to know?”

“My name is Reverend Healey. May I come in?”

“Who sent you?”

A bespectacled man whose graying hair did not match his unlined features emerged into the light. “Does the name Father Libretto mean anything to you?”

She dropped the weapon. Found it necessary to grip the wall for support. “Yes.”

“Are you all right?”

“You scared me.”

He took another step inside. “Father Libretto was contacted by someone in Washington named Wynn Bryant. He said you might be in danger.” He took in the pile of books, the discarded hoe, her shaking form. “It looks like they were right.”

Jackie leaned against the wall. “I’m not leaving my home.”

“I can understand that.” He walked forward, offered her a card. “But if you need anything, feel free to call. My church is about a half mile from here.”

She could not bring the words into focus. “You’re not a priest?”

“Lutheran. Sant’Egidio is an ecumenical movement. It is open to all believers. The head of the German group is also a Lutheran and a friend of mine. Which is one reason they have as many problems as they do with the bishops in Rome.”

“Thanks for stopping by.” She waved an arm over the pile of textbooks. “I’m a little busy right now.”

“Yes, so I see.” As he turned to leave, he said, “Do you belong to a local church?”

She had to laugh. “No.”

“You’d be welcome to join us. The company of believers is a vital part of the walk.” He stepped into the darkness. “That and knowing when to ask for help.”

Friday

Burke met Thorson Fines in the First Florida parking lot, where the wind blew a constant sullen breath. Fines wore the expression of one with grievances against everything he saw. “Meeting out here isn’t going to preserve your masquerade. The chairman’s done some checking. He’s found out you answer to Hayek.”

“This was bound to happen.” So long as information about the bank’s new owner was not verified from Liechtenstein, the Fed had no official basis upon which to act. And Hayek needed only one more week. “Now tell me the real problem.”

“Your man Anker is spending too much time away from the market to be any good as a senior trader.”

Burke gripped the steering wheel and twisted it back and forth. The leather squeaked and shuddered. Just as Colin Ready should be doing. “I’ll have a word with him.”

“He’s stashed a pair of geeks in the back room. They’ve brought in a mountain of electronic gear. He slips out every chance he gets to watch them play with their toys. This is no way to run an overcrowded trading room that’s drowning in cash.”

But Colin Ready continued to elude them, Burke wanted to shout. The man had firewalls on his firewalls. Time was running out, and Hayek refused to snuff him out unless they brought in hard evidence. Which they did not have. No wonder Anker was obsessing.